Under the Moon
by Itsallablur
Summary: Not all fairy tales have happy endings.


Title: Under the Moon  
Author: Angela  
Rating: PG (for general creepiness)  
Spoilers: Guess what? Lana's parents are dead. Sorry if I ruined it for you.  
Summary: Not all fairy tales have happy endings. Takes place a few months after the death of Lana's parents.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Smallville or the characters. I'm not making any money off of this.  
  
Notes: The bedtime story I'm referring to is "Under the Moon" by Joanne Ryder. And just to (hopefully) prevent any confusion, what's in *these* are descriptions of what Lana sees in her mind, and what's outside them is what she wants to believe. Usually, I'd put what's in *these* in italics, but I could still see the tags the first time I uploaded this. Blah.  
  
And thanks to Mandy for being the coolest beta reader.  
  
  
Under the Moon  
  
She's really cold, Lana realizes suddenly, clasping and unclasping her small fists slowly, the joints, tendons, and muscles stiff with the lack of warmth. She thinks that she may be, perhaps, almost frozen.  
  
*"It's like a meat locker in here."*  
  
That's what her dad said when the heater quit working one winter. Not the sort of locker the high school kids store their school materials in, but the sort of locker where hunks of animal meat hang on hooks. Where it smells of fresh blood. People in white uniforms walk along the rows, inspecting.  
  
She walks along the thin pathway that she doesn't recognize. The barren track is surrounded by green forest; pale green grass amidst the darker shades of thick bushes and small trees that are dwarfed by the larger ones that tower over the little girl.   
  
The only sounds she can hear are her feet scraping against the hard and worn surface of the path and her own breathing, shallow and soft as she shivers. It's eerily quiet, like how you would expect it to be inside of a morgue. Where it reeks of human mortality. Where people in white coats stand beside the metal slabs, observing.  
  
The frigid air is still, so there is not even a rustling of leaves to accompany Lana along her morbid trek.  
  
She does this quite often. Wanders around aimlessly in the country surrounding Nell's house, not allowing herself to lose complete track of time but coming close enough. She has to be careful. Nell can't find out about these late night excursions. She loses herself for a little while, and then finds her way back home with ease using what her mother taught her.   
  
*"Where's our house, sweetie? Do you know how to find our house?"*  
  
Home was under the moon, just like in the bedtime story with the mouse.  
  
Home was where it smelled like cinnamon and sunshine. Where Daddy watched television in the living room, where Mommy hummed in the kitchen while she ironed.  
  
Where it was cozy and safe.  
  
But now, she has a new home with Nell. She's nice. Her aunt loves her; Lana knows that. But if she had a chance to go back and make things happen differently, she would make Nell switch places with her mother. Sometimes she feels disgusted with herself for thinking this way. Her aunt tries so hard to be everything Lana needs. Other times, she feels angry and doesn't care if it's wrong to imagine Nell dead if it means her mother can be alive.  
  
Mommy and Daddy have a new home, as well. They're still together. In (*the damp ground*) Heaven, in (*enclosed boxes*) a house where they (*lay*) stand side by side. It must smell like (*death and decay*) cinnamon and sunshine. It must be (*stuffy and unfriendly*) warm and perfect.   
  
It must be peaceful because (*they can't feel*) they're always happy, now. Just like in (*a horror film*) the fairy tales.   
  
But Mommy and Daddy forgot to tell her that people die in fairy tales.   
  
She spots a log over near a pond. She sits down on the wooden corpse of the fallen tree, her body rigid. Lana feels the warmth of tears stinging her eyes, but she won't let them fall. She's cried enough, and she's sick of aching inside. She wants to feel happy and whole, like all the other kids around her.   
  
She picks up a rock and throws it into the pond, disturbing the placid waters.  
  
Lana looked up the term "fairy tale" in the dictionary. Fairy tales are lies. Tales of happiness that aren't true. Maybe happiness itself was a fictional concept dreamt up by some old man in a cottage. Probably so.  
  
The tips of her fingers are staring to become numb. It's better than the biting pain of the cold, though.   
  
Numbness is better than pain.  
  
It's time for Lana to go back to her new home. With Nell. Even though it doesn't smell like cinnamon and sunshine, even though Daddy's not watching television in the living room and Mommy's not singing in the kitchen , it's still under the moon.  
  
  
  
~The End~ 


End file.
